


Shuck

by lostend



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 99 percent chance rating will change, AU, Emotional Constipation, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Original Character Death(s), if drug dealing is an old man thing, old men who aren't old men yet doing old men things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostend/pseuds/lostend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin is a mama's boy from a long line of seedy politicians (and apparently the mob). Levi is Erwin's mother's coke dealer/pet project, who dabbles in underground fighting on the side. They don't really speak until Erwin's mother dies, and then the whole situation just gets weirder.<br/>Neither of them are good with emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was starting to get annoyed.

"Yes, yes. His mother is a advice columnist with alleged mob ties and his father had an alleged secret family. Yes. His mother holds several doctorates, mind you. Mm hmm. Yes, I'm aware the secret family story was all but proven according to your paper, but I refuse to comment on Mr. Smith's behalf regarding his thoughts or experiences regarding the matter in question."

These calls had been incessant since the dirty laundry surrounding his father's life came out on the anniversary of his death a few days previous. Apparently "respect for the dead" was weighed against "not being scared of the dead" in his father's case, and without his father physically existant to instill fear in everyone he passed, what left was there but for him to be laid low?

It didn't mean the reporters had to keep calling _him_ , though.

Fortunately, Petra, the interning law student Mike had reccomended he take on, was nothing more than a miracle worker with godlike patience when it came to reporters - a skillset discovered completely by accident just yesterday, from something completely more nuanced and complicated than just the fact that she was the only worker who didn't endanger the stability of the firm by screaming into the phone.  
From her direction, he heard the distinctive snap of a pencil being broken in two.

_Godlike patience._

Erwin was a defense attorney, and a good one at that. He had his own practice, cofounded with his longtime friend Mike. You'd think people would be scared of harassing lawyers, but given his high profile family, he wasn't exactly usual game.

"You said what?" Petra yelled. "About his - That's not right, she's -"

The doors to his office burst open, revealing his friend Mike wheezing like he had just run a marathon and screaming so loud his face was the color of a tomato. "Don't look at that fucking television!"

"Why? What happened now?" Erwin asked, instinctively doing exactly the opposite of what Mike said. He'd swear any other time that he valued his counsel, and actually followed it more often than not, but oops. He slipped, it was like a reflex. Besides, if his father had another secret family, he needed to know.

He didn't immediately recognize whatever it was he wasn't supposed to be seeing, and then he did. That was it, just like that. One second he was standing there blissfully unaware, and then he wasn't.

If you had asked Erwin earlier that day what he expected his day to consist of, he would have said something like:  
1) he expected to go get that nice peppermint seasonal coffee he liked,  
2) he was going to push some stuff around so Petra could schmooze with his prosecutor friends,  
and 3) he was going to possibly even get home before 10 pm for once so he could review cases while watching any trashy drama he could find on Netflix.

What he did not expect was to see announcements of his mother's death plastered all over CNN.  
He stood there in silence, dazed and out of body, while he was peripherally aware that some people were calling his name.

He felt ten years old again, a gangly, odd kid in a monster of a house with too many rooms. He had no real friends or playmates, and he was always bawling for some reason or other. He suddenly recalled one particular scene, a moment he had really lost it, for a reason he couldn't remember. Strangely enough, all he could recall of that day was the muted gray of the sky outside and the distant rumble of thunder, and especially how cold, foreign, and uncomfortable the kitchen tile felt underneath his bare feet.

His mother had a routine for his crying spells - she would grab him by the shoulders gently, and then ruffle his hair while she said, "Future politicians don't cry," in her slow, soothing voice. But this day was different.

"I don't want to be a politician," he sniffed, and her demeanor didn't even change, although her face registered a bit of shock. Erwin's father was a politician, so was his uncle, so was his aunt. And so was his grandfather, on and on and on. Erwin had been groomed to be a politician since he could speak, and politicians weren't allowed to cry in public - he was only chastised for it as a joke by his mother's indulgence.

Needless to say, his mother was surprised.

"First I've heard of this. What do you want to be, then?"

"A lawyer."

"That's even worse, but suprisingly levelheaded for a kid," she laughed, and then proceeded to tickle him until he couldn't cry anymore. Her tone was joking, but her weary eyes registered relief at his confession, something he never seemed to forget; even as an adult.

"Oh," he murmured, as the face of his father's last wife, who he couldn't even remember the name of right now, flashed on the screen - effectively snapping him out of his memories. Maybe they got that "sudden death" soundbyte from her that the reporters were looking for him to give, judging from the way Petra had reacted on the phone earlier.

Apparently so, as The New Wife Whose Name He Couldn't Remember - ah, wait, her name was Selene, wasn't it - was going on and on about how sad it was about Erwin's mother's death. Her voice gave him a headache.

It was no secret that the two women hated each other just based on principle - his mother tolerated affairs, but she did not tolerate love. That led to problems on all fronts.

As Selene went on and on about how sorry she was for Erwin's loss, and how nice his mother was, he tuned out, although he felt guilty for at least not hearing her out. She was one of his father's nicer mistresses-turned-more at least. And who was to say she wasn't actually lying about her care beneath her passive-agressive Christmas cards?

But whatever the case, as he stared at the screen after Selene's visage had faded from its broadcast, he started to feel as if his brain had slowed down and time had sped up, leaving him at an impassable incongruence with the world around him.

He was lost. What was he supposed to feel when a loved one died? He had no love for his father, so this was his first real hard-hitting death. He supposed he should feel something more pronounced for his mother; at least a feeling other other than the gentle, yet cold, ache in his chest. Was he supposed to break out crying like in a drama? Did people even do that anymore? He was too old to get away with pity, and he certainly didn't want Petra or Mike to think he was losing it, as neither of them had ever seen him so much as sweat...figuratively.

His whole family valued the cohesion of a perfect outer appearance - no crying, no showing weakness, no showing any emotion whatsoever. Even his mother was her same, her line one of mob criminals who didn't actually have the protection of the law to lie and cheat and steal for their job.

In any case, both emotionally constipated sides of his genetic tree truly did not prepare him to actually show emotion, just to fake it like a good actor. All he was used to was muffling his innermost thoughts and feelings.

But this feeling, whatever this was, certainly felt real. The dull ache spread throughout his chest and suddenly his eyes were stinging. He promised himself he would not cry there like a child, even if it was in his ridiculously expensive big boy office in his ridiculously expensive big boy suit. His mother wouldn't have wanted him to cry, she knew he could never grow up normally. But his mother still would have ruffled his head while he wept, and that just made the miasma inside his chest grow worse.

* * *

It fell on him to wrap up his mother's affairs and plan the funeral, as he was her next-of-kin. Petra, Mike, and the office's requisite staff did the best they could to help, meaning that it was actually left up to them to both manage and micromanage the entire thing. It was really outside the scope of most of their boundaries, especially for an intern like Petra, but she was too kind for her own good.

Upon being told by a stricken Mike and Petra to "leave everything to them," he did. He knew he would be absolutely useless at whatever planning a funeral entailed, so why protest?

So he hailed a cab, went downtown, and holed himself up in his mother's apartment for days upon days. He wasn't grieving, mind, just reminiscing. To make said reminiscing free of any obfuscations, like, say, time; he closed the curtains and the blinds and refused to look at any of the clocks or his phone. Practical. He wasn't grieving, and he was dandy. Both Petra and Mike had his pager number, therefore they knew how to reach him if he was wanted, so he was okay.

And besides, it wasn't like his mother had died in her apartment, so it wasn't too bad. He was completely a-okay, emotions wise.

Although his mother's penthouse apartment was impossibly large and seemed to scream money from every delicately crafted surface, right now, it all blurred together looking dull and cheap.  
It didn't help that he had made himself a blanket fort out of the guest room's bedding on his mother's drawing room couch, availing himself of her plentiful liquor cabinet whenever he felt like he was close to feeling anything at all.

Again, again, he was fine. He was sure he was fine. He was okay.

Did he mention he was alright? Because he was.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long it had been really. He had avoided mirrors until then, whenever then was. Judging by the scruff on his cheeks as he peeked in the bathroom mirror, maybe three or four days, he figured. Or less.

He made his way back to the parlor's bar, whatever the case, and poured himself another drink. Just when he was contemplating deriving a method to determine time of day as judged by beard scruff, there was a clinking and turning noise from the front door of the apartment, like a lock was giving way.

That was impossible, though, as far as he knew the only spare key his mother gave out to anyone, besides himself, was her publicist - and that was at least nine years ago. Said publicist was a smartly dressed gray-haired woman with a crippling fear of anything supernatural. The woman absolutely refused to enter her mother's apartment after Erwin's father had died there a year ago.

So, if not her, then _who_?

Erwin immediately reached for anything to defend himself with - and found nothing but the wine bottle he was nursing earlier. He immediately knew it was illogical for a burgular to use the front door, but still, his mother could have lost the key in her haste somewhere before her...anyway, and never told him about it.  
Apparently the intruder had gotten in without complaint, as Erwin heard the telltale sound of the door closing and automatically locking, with newfound grumbling inside the apartment.

"Jesus, what smells like a brewery?" a pithy voice asked, and Erwin immediately sniffed himself and his person. Yes, he did indeed smell like a brewery.

Apparently the person had also found one of Erwin's many haphazardly discarded beer bottles as well, by the sound of their curses and the telltale clink of one glass bottle rolling into another.

"Is there a fucking animal in here? At least it's not a burglar."

Erwin kind of wanted to hit the person with the wine bottle anyway, burgular or not.

  
The footsteps grew closer and revealed a small man, visibly annoyed, with his dark hair slicked back. He was wearing jeans and combat boots, and even though they were undoubtedly expensive, how the fuck did he manage to get past the doorman?

Oh.

"My mother gave a spare key to her dealer?" Erwin's voice actually cracked.

The man shrugged like he had heard it all before. "Morning, scruffy. You must be golden boy - although you look like you've killed him and you're wearing his skin."

"Jesus Christ."

"No, I'm Levi. And you smell like shit."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erwin takes a drunken bath and forgets to ask about the ins and outs of home invasion.

Meeting a stranger involved a delicate dance, an awkward gangly tango and fuss of limbs that reminded Erwin of sweaty, awkward preteen prep school dances. Strangers knew you better than you knew them when it came to being infamous. Or really, they knew this _idea_ of you better than you knew them - for better or for worse. You started off conversations at an unnatural disadvantage and had to work hard to regain the upper hand, to make them capitulate to your whims.

Conversation was a fine art. This conversation was no different.

He knew next to nothing about this man staring sharply at him, his dark overlooking eyes like fine daggers. All he knew was that his name was Levi, he was a dealer, and he visited his mother every week for the past seven years.

The city where they lived was pretty suburban upper-class, so Levi probably had no shortage of rich to sell to. Drugs to the wealthy here were not so much an escape but a frivolity, a trendy meaningless dalliance. The housewives were bored enough, the husbands controlling enough.

He likes to think that his mother was _different_ in every regard, and she was - although, he didn't know how she met Levi. He only knew that the short, dark-haired slip of a boy kept coming over their house every week for "life counselling." Erwin didn't detect that the kid was in any harm, so he left his mother to dote on him. She always loved her projects, Erwin foremost among them.

Levi's eyes were wary and tired even then. Like a feral cat caught in a cage.

And the whole life counselling deal wasn't even a lie, really. But that was Erwin's main qualm right here, right now - this waif was his mother's problem, his mother's tryst, his mother's habit - his mother's loose end after death. He didn't want to deal with the kid, especially as he represented a side of his mother he didn't want to think about right now. "Seven-year mentor to a 24-year-old criminal" only worked when it concerned white-collar crimes, not blow. No one wanted to hear about how the woman who read to orphans in her spare time took a good half a year explaining the finer points of college-level macroeconomics to a brutal 17-year-old up-and-coming drug dealer.

Well, no one wanted to hear about that at a _funeral_.

Erwin was being selfish, he knew that. So, he acted how he did every time he felt uncomfortable in a situation. He faked being on top, the effortless one in charge.

Conversation and the game it involved was drilled into him, even if he secretly hated it.

So he played the sotted host, masking his discomfort - "Why are you here? You want a drink?"

Levi stared at him like Erwin had just sprouted a grotesque third head right in front of his eyes.

Erwin forgot his mother had probably instructed Levi to do the same thing - regain control of the flow of the conversation - when he felt uncomfortable. He had been seen right through, he'd slipped.

"Oh right, you just said I smelled like a drunk," Erwin capitulated, trying to smooth it over. Admittedly, he was still pretty drunk this far into...whatever this was. This extended grieving period, at least for his standards?

Whatever the hell it was, just what was was the etiquette concerning dealing with your late mother's drug dealer? His mother certainly never wrote a column on that. Levi wasn't exactly someone Erwin would remember to call to notify of his mother's passing, although he had been coming to his mother's apartment regularly for the past seven years. They had been close, though, that much was sure - his mother had sung his praises to her friends with every line. They all had their vices, that was the virtue of being rich. But not his saintly mother, no, she wasn't so shallow. Erwin was raised Catholic, and he always envisioned his mother as his bright shining Mary.

He wasn't Jesus, though. He was never that ridiculously self-sacrificial.  
Levi was not content to let him stew in his own thoughts, it was clear. He tapped his foot and levelled an even more disparaging stare.

"How about you take a shower first before you go fucking up this apartment more, golden boy?" Levi growled, the rhythm of his boot tapping pounding in Erwin's ears.

"Don't call me that," Erwin muttered. "Just call me Erwin."

"I thought you would have liked it, considering it's what you are," Levi shrugged, making his way toward Erwin. "Can you stand?"

Erwin rubbed his temples with his fingers and eyed the scotch out of the corner of his eye. Manna from heaven. "Why?"

"Fuck do you mean why? You look and smell like you haven't bathed in days, and I'm not drinking with that shit clogging my nose."

"We haven't seen each other in years, and first thing you want to do is help me bathe?"

Levi looked at him as if he was contemplating slitting Erwin's throat with the switchblade he almost assuredly carried on his person. Erwin had no doubt Levi could slip one past security.

"Sorry. This is hitting me hard," Erwin mumbled.

Levi looked at him for a while as if appraising him, then shrugged. He then stretched out his hand. "Come on then."

Erwin was surprised Levi could support his weight, but he did. Levi hefted his arm over his shoulder and acted as his crutch. He must have been stronger than he looked. He remembered his mom said he boxed.

-

"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"Making sure you don't choke to death on your own vomit. This bathroom is too big, I can't hear you outside. Just pull the curtain back if you want privacy. It's just a dick."  
He was right, the bathroom was too big. Levi had dumped him in the empty, offensively clean tub and sighed, did an about face, and stood in front of the door, his back facing Erwin. It was pretty clear what was supposed to happen after.

Well, even if it was just a dick, it was _his_ dick, and Erwin didn't really feel like whipping it out in front of a stranger.

"I'm really okay," Erwin said, scrambling to at least stand up in the tub. He didn't remember the guest bathroom being so bright.

"Are you sure?" Levi asked.

Erwin _wasn't_ sure. In fact, this question was clearly loaded. If the kid felt anywhere near what Erwin felt right now, he needed some reassurance when it came to living and dying. Erwin was sure he wouldn't choke to death on his own vomit, and he was sure Levi knew that too given the fact that Erwin had survived for god knows how long in his drunken pillow party blanket fort. It was just the principle of the thing.  
He didn't want to lose anyone else, especially not someone as close to his mentor as he was.

"I don't have any clothes to change into," Erwin said finally.

Levi snapped to like he had been struck. "Right, yeah. She didn't clean your old room out. Do you want actual clothes or just pajamas?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Ha ha," Levi faux-laughed. "Don't get naked without me, I don't want your tiny dick to scar me for life yet again."

"Jesus, those nudes were photoshopped!" Erwin yelled back, but he was gone.

-

For five minutes after Levi got back, a weary silence coated the atmosphere in the room like the smog hanging listlessly over the streets of the city outside.

Erwin had started running a bath - every time he stood up his bones ached, so a shower was a no go. Of course he ran the risk of drowning in the bath but Levi could probably hear his death gurgles and save him in time enough.

Then Levi got back, laid out his clothes neatly, and said nothing for the next twenty minutes.

Erwin was already in the bath, relaxed and content, when he finally started to feel uncomfortable. He still knew next to nothing about Levi.  
Fuck, he still didn't know why he was even here. Even though he was sure that the other man didn't have an answer for it. And why would he?

 _Why are you here?_ It sounded impertinent, it sounded rude, it sounded demeaning. He wasn't just a drug dealer. His mother had nurtured this kid, given him advice, put clothes on his back that he was too proud to wear, at least according to her. Erwin was always a solitary person who reveled in so-called companiable silences, as he abhorred small talk unless it was about business, but he wasn't inept enough to be so insulting as to ask that question. He would never have gotten to where he was if he were.  
But then his cell phone rang.

"I thought I turned that shit off," Erwin groaned. "Shouldn't it have died by now?"

"I charged it," Levi said simply, reaching for it on the floor, unplugging Erwin's phone from the charger. How the hell did Erwin not notice that? "Sorry. Thought you were a workaholic."

His tone didn't sound apologetic.  
Erwin groaned. "I guess I can't stay here forever."

"How long have you been holed up in here, golden boy?"

"I don't know. Ever since I heard."

"Mm. Probably four days then. The funeral's in two."

"Shit, I really have to thank them," Erwin murmured. He never really lost it like this. He had even only taken a week's leave after his father's death solely for appearances.

"Them, who?"

"My firm partner and the staff. They did all the work so I could wallow here."

Levi was silent.

"You're not gonna ask who called?"  
"No one important. If it's urgent, they'll contact my pager."

"Jesus, what an old man," Levi shrugged, pulling out his own phone from his pocket. Probably for stuff Erwin really didn't want to know about.

And then they were silent again, the only sounds in the room Erwin's sloshing and Levi's typing.

"I haven't seen you in years," he said slowly, testing the atmosphere, and it sounded just as stupid in his head as it did out loud, but it wasn't like they could talk about the weather.

And someone had to break the silence.

"How's it been going?"

"You can't be serious. I can't have this conversation with a fucking door."

"Then turn around."

Levi did. "Wait, when the hell did you put bubbles in the bath?"

"I like bubbles."

"Well, at least I didn't get a chance to sell your actual nudes on the internet. Because I would have taken it."

Erwin laughed for the first time in days. His shoulders shook, and his whole body heaved. The water in the tub sloshed rhythmically.

Levi looked at him as if seeing something for the first time. He shrugged. "You moved out for good when I just graduated high school. I've expanded my territory and got control of the selling arm of a gang by accident. The end."

Erwin frowned for a second, but not because of the explanation. He had just heard all of that before from his mother. He cleared his throat. "It really has been a long time, I guess. I moved out for good when I graduated college. Needed my own apartment. Although I wasn't even here often when I was in undergrad. I had a dorm. You in college now?"

Stilted, awkward. This was like pulling teeth.

"Yeah," Levi murmured. "I don't know what I want to do, though. I started late, I needed money." He scratched the back of his head.

Hold on.

Erwin had never really spoken to Levi at length before, but now he could see why his mother took a liking to him. He was whip-smart, levelheaded, and just the right bit of caring - although the untrained eye might call him calloused. Someone who didn't have a knack for sensing talent would have left him to rot.

"So what have you been doing?" Levi ventured, his stare making Erwin's skin prickle. "Although I pretty much know from the papers."  
Erwin groaned, low in his chest, and sunk down into the bubbles. Levi smirked like he knew he would get that reaction.

"What do they say? I haven't read them. Never did, really."

"To be honest," Levi murmured, "The papers mostly focus on your father. They love you, golden boy. When they're not looking for a chance to paint you as a cheater and an embezzler just like daddy."

Erwin huffed. "The embezzlement was never proven, in my father's case." Which was as good as admitting Levi was completely on the money as far as his father's cheating went.

"So what have you actually been doing?"

"Work. I got married once, when I was as young as you. It didn't pan out."

Levi looked at him. There was something in that stare, something that gripped his chest and made him feel as if he were being roasted alive. As Erwin gazed back, he felt the coldness of the water on his skin, the ache in his bones, and the tiredness that came from living.

"I-I need to get out," Erwin stammered. "Of the tub. Turn around, will you?"

Levi did, pulling out his phone yet again. Clearly Erwin's imagination was dancing on the grave of his intellect again.

Erwin started to get dressed. Levi had only really given him an undershirt, some boxers, and some sweatpants. Apparently this is what Levi thought pajamas were.

Whatever, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He toweled off waist down and threw on some boxers.

Erwin's phone rang again. Levi picked it up as if on reflex. "Someone named Petra?"

Erwin hesitated, but guilt overran him. She was probably checking on him, and he didn't feel like dealing with that, but on the other hand she was saving him from the worst parts of his responsibility right now.

Levi looked back at him, and Erwin was glad he at least had on boxers. He was still sopping wet from the waist up, and judging by the beginnings of a beard he saw on himself earlier, probably looked like a caveman.

Levi wolf whistled. "Okay, you're indisposed. I'll handle it." And he turned around. Erwin went back to dressing.

"Hello? No, this is Levi. A friend. Yes, he's fine. He's at his mother's apartment. Hm, you might want to come tomorrow to get him fully sobered up. Yes, like a fucking teenager on their first beer. I'm gonna make sure he doesn't choke to death, and I'm gonna head off. Yeah. Don't thank me, for fuck's sakes." Levi hung up.

"I'm guessing you got that?" He called from over his shoulder. "Reality's calling, old man. You can't hide forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually already written the third chapter, but I really have no idea where this is going at all. RUNAWAY GRIEF PAIN TRAIN.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in a long while, and this is my first fic for this pairing/even SNK, so please give feedback if you want!  
> Sorry that the first chapter didn't have much interaction, it was getting too long and I needed to set up some more backstory :x  
> I'm gonna stop blathering now, okay.


End file.
